


With a Look

by marinaalexis



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-25 02:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14967371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinaalexis/pseuds/marinaalexis
Summary: Spencer, Emily, Aria, and Hanna. One by one, Alison DiLaurentis plucked each of them from obscurity and made them into her perfect clique. This is how it happened.





	1. Spencer

_Spencer_

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

“Spencer.” Spencer’s head snapped up at the sound of her name, and she glanced down the long dining room table at her mother. Veronica raised her eyebrows and shot a look at the spoon in Spencer’s hand, which she had been absentmindedly tapping against the rim of her soup bowl without even realizing.

Spencer dropped the spoon and looked away. The middle-aged businessman sitting beside her father made a joke about trade stocks, and the table erupted into laughter. Spencer hid a groan. She liked a good economy joke as much as the next honors-level eighth grader, but sitting through one of her parents’ endless dinner parties wasn’t exactly her idea of a good time.

She’d begged her mother to let her skip this one and hide out in her room instead, but Veronica had been adamant that Spencer attend. “Several of our neighbors will be there,” she’d said firmly. “What will they think if our own daughter would rather barricade herself in her bedroom?”

In Spencer’s opinion, they’d understand that the last thing a fourteen year old girl wanted to do was spend the evening with a bunch of upper middle class lawyers and businesspeople, but her mother never saw these things from her perspective. And when she’d complained that they were allowing Melissa to skip dinner, Veronica reminded her that Melissa had a very important final to study for and couldn’t be distracted.

Spencer had a geography test the next day, but she didn’t bother to bring it up. Her parents always played by a different set of rules when it came to her sister.

She didn’t even mean to do it, but as her eyes swept around the table, they settled on the girl sitting directly across from her, the only other person in the room without a full-time career and a pension plan.

Before Spencer could look away, Alison DiLaurentis’ eyes lifted from her phone. She furrowed her brow at Spencer. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” Spencer stammered, quickly grabbing her spoon and taking another sip of her soup. Spencer hadn’t known that Alison would be coming to this party until she showed up at the door with her parents and had to be pressed by her mother to even say “hello.”

Spencer had been surprised that the DiLaurentises had even been invited. Though the families had lived next door to each other for years, there had always been a strange tension between them. Spencer’s parents insisted that the DiLaurentis family was just jealous of them, but Spencer had always gotten a feeling that there was more to the story. Even last week, right before the invitations had gone out, she’d heard them arguing about including their next-door neighbors. Something about “distancing ourselves” and “keeping up appearances.”

But Spencer wasn’t quite sure why Alison had come along. None of the other neighbors or colleagues had brought their children. And Alison obviously had no interest in befriending Spencer – she’d spoken less than three words to her over the past hour.

Jessica DiLaurentis, Alison’s mother, glanced over, possibly hearing the girls’ voices. “Alison,” she said sharply. “Phone away, please.”

Alison opened her mouth, her eyes narrowed as if she was getting ready to fight. But Mrs. DiLaurentis cleared her throat, and she just let out a labored sigh, as if she couldn’t imagine a situation more painful.

“These phones,” an estate lawyer beside Alison’s father said with a laugh, setting down his glass of wine. “My son might as well glue his to his hand.”

Despite the lighthearted tone of his comment, a slightly awkward silence settled over the table. Alison looked dangerously close to retorting. Spencer’s mother coughed. “Spencer, why don’t you and Alison go on up to your room?”

  
Spencer stared at her mother, feeling the air leave her lungs. Go hang out in her room…with _Alison DiLaurentis?_ She’d have rather suffered through the rest of dinner. She hesitated. Her father met her eyes. “Go on, Spence.”

Feeling trapped, Spencer slid her chair back and stood. She smoothed down her skirt. “O-okay.” She shot a glance over at Alison, who was slowly rising to her feet as well, an indecipherable expression on her face.

The girls were silent as Spencer led the way up the stairs and into her bedroom. Spencer stood awkwardly near her bed, watching Alison gaze around the room with the same scrutinizing look she wore just before criticizing someone’s outfit or making fun of their glasses in the halls at school. Her eyes locked onto the multitude of blue ribbons pinned to Spencer’s bulletin board. “Wow. Impressive.”

Was she being snarky or serious? “Most of those are just from horseback riding,” Spencer said dismissively, then wondered why she felt the need to downplay her success in Alison’s presence. “And, I mean, some academic awards.”

“Hmm.” Alison perched on the edge of Spencer’s bed and pulled out her phone again. “No wonder I never see you hanging out with anyone.”

Spencer flinched as the blonde began texting furiously once again. Irritation suddenly flared in her chest. Alison was a guest in _her_ house, was sitting here in _her_ room, and she could barely be bothered to even look at her?

“Why’d you even come tonight?” The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “It doesn’t exactly seem like you want to be here.”

Alison raised her eyes from her phone, her eyebrows shooting up. Spencer folded her arms and tried to look strong and confident, and not at all like she was petrified that the meanest, most popular girl in school was about to destroy her in her own bedroom.

But to her immense shock, Alison just lowered her phone and offered Spencer a slight smirk. “Honestly? My dad busted me sneaking in way after my curfew last night.” She spread her arms out, indicating the room. “So this is my punishment.”

Spencer tried to ignore the fact that Alison had basically just insulted her to her face. “At least it’s only once,” she said, sinking down into the chair at her desk. “My parents make me go to all of their stupid dinner parties.”

Alison tilted her head and glanced toward the window. The roof of the barn was barely visible. “I didn’t see Melissa down there.”

For some reason, Spencer was surprised to hear Melissa’s name come out of Alison’s mouth. They’d lived next door to each other since Spencer was in kindergarten – there was no reason why Alison wouldn’t know at least a little about her family. But Alison’s world at school was so different that Spencer supposed she subconsciously figured that their home lives took place on different planes of existence, too.

“She’s out in the barn, studying,” she answered, trying to keep the twinge of bitterness that she felt out of her voice. After all, it wasn’t Melissa’s fault that Spencer could never seem to measure up in her parents’ eyes.

“Sure she is,” Alison said with a snort. Before Spencer could question her, she went on, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your secret.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. The biggest secret she ever kept was that she occasionally snuck a sip of her mom’s wine at dinner when she wasn’t looking, but there was no way that Alison could know _that,_ was there? “What do you mean?”

Alison gave a conspiratorial, slightly condescending wink. “Having an older sibling can really suck. I get it.”

Spencer realized with a jolt what she was inferring. “Melissa and I are actually really close,” she said defensively, pushing up her glasses. Even though they were only for reading, she’d decided to wear them tonight to try and make herself look smarter and more mature in front of all of her parents’ lawyer friends. Now, looking at Alison with her perfectly curled hair and flawless skin, she just felt kind of nerdy.

“If you say so.” Alison drew the words out slowly. She gave Spencer a look of plain disinterest and went back to her phone.

All at once, a strange feeling of desperation spread through Spencer, from her head to her toes. It was a feeling that, as someone who focused all of her time and energy on studying and field hockey practices and running five middle school clubs, she had never experienced before.

It took her a moment to realize what it was – she wanted to impress Alison. Wanted to be liked by her. Maybe it was because Alison was the most popular girl in school, or maybe because this was the closest thing Spencer had had to a conversation with an actual friend all year, but Alison’s bored expression hit her like a punch to the stomach.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes landing on the wall of ribbons and the trophies lined neatly on the desk beneath them. Academic bowls, riding competitions, spelling bees, field hockey tournaments…she’d done it all alone. Kids wanted to partner with her for projects because they knew she’d do all the work, not because they actually wanted to work _with_ her. The only sleepovers she’d ever been to were coordinated field hockey team bonding events. Surreptitiously, she glanced down at her own phone. The last five texts she’d received were all from classmates who wanted homework help.

It had been like this for as long as she could remember. And now Alison DiLaurentis, the most feared – but also most beloved – girl in school was sitting five feet away from her. This was her chance, maybe the only one she would ever get. And Spencer realized, for the first time in her life, how much she wanted to take it.

“Well,” she blurted, frowning when Alison didn’t even glance up, “I guess it does get kind of annoying. Sometimes it feels like Melissa’s held to a totally different standard than I am.”

Alison finally lowered her phone again. “That must be awful,” she sighed, shooting Spencer an understanding smile. “All I have to deal with is my brother’s stupid stoner friends.”

Spencer ran her finger along the edge of the desk. “He must have a lot of parties. We can always hear music coming from your house at night. It drives my dad crazy.”

She expected Alison to gloat, but to her surprise, the blonde grimaced. “Parties? More like smoky snooze-fests. I can’t get out of there fast enough.”

There was a slight darkness to her words that Spencer couldn’t interpret. Before she could figure out a response, Alison checked her phone again, then hopped to her feet and adjusted her dove gray mini dress, the kind of thing that made Spencer feel incredibly frumpy in her plaid skirt and tucked-in blouse. “Speaking of parties,” Alison trilled, “it looks like the one at Sean Ackard’s house tonight is just getting started.”

For once in her life, Spencer felt clueless, watching dumbly as Alison crossed the room and heaved open the window. “You have to be kidding me,” Alison said in wonder. “You have a tree right outside your window, and I’ve never seen you at a single party?”

Spencer just shrugged, not sure what to say. She’d always been a “stay in and study” type of girl, not exactly a partygoer. And definitely not the kind of person who snuck out of her house. She watched silently as Alison slipped off her dusty pink heels. “Don’t worry,” she called over her shoulder. “You don’t have to cover for me. I just texted my dad that I had a stomachache and slipped out to go lie down at home.”

“Oh.” Spencer blinked. She was really _leaving?_

Alison was halfway out of the window, her movements graceful from what was clearly a lot of practice, when she caught Spencer’s eye. She frowned, twisting her mouth to the side thoughtfully. Then, before Spencer could register what was happening, she was back on two feet in her bedroom. “Want to come with?”

  
“What?”

“I said,” Alison repeated, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow, “why don’t you come with me?”

A strange mixture of exhilaration and anxiety flashed through Spencer’s stomach. She shot a glance at the door. “I can’t. My parents…”

“Will never know a thing,” Alison finished, her smile bright and reassuring. “Trust me. I’m an expert at this. I’ll have you there and back before the dessert plates are collected.”

Her tone was so supportive, her words so comforting, that Spencer felt her fears began to lift. A sort of nervous thrill took over completely. She’d never imagined going to a party before. In fact, she’d always scoffed when her classmates whispered about stashing away a parent’s bottle of tequila or discussed how they could get rides to someone’s house on a Friday night.

She’d always figured her disdain was simply because she was above that sort of thing, too mature for musty basements, sloppy drunkenness, and uncoordinated groping in the dark. But perhaps the real reason was because she’d never considered what it would be like to walk into a party with Alison DiLaurentis by her side.

“Okay,” she said before she could change her mind. She scrambled up, pushing sudden second thoughts about Alison’s intentions out of her mind. They’d bonded. Alison wouldn’t have asked her along if she didn’t want her there. She had clearly realized that Spencer was more than just the geeky honors student who lived next door.

And even better, it felt like Spencer was finally realizing that, too.

Alison beamed. “It’ll be fun,” she promised, swiftly reaching over and swiping Spencer’s glasses right off of her. She set them on the nightstand, then undid the barrette from Spencer’s hair, letting it fall free on either side of her face. “You’ll thank me,” she murmured when Spencer opened her mouth in protest.

Spencer wasn’t about to argue with that. She wasn’t about to do _anything_ that might jeopardize this night. She glanced once more over her shoulder, trying to block out the sounds of the adults’ laughter and silverware clinking. Then she took a deep breath and turned determinedly back to Alison. “Let’s do it.”


	2. Emily

_Emily_

Emily wondered what it felt like to be in love. She'd wondered for months, really, but the thought was especially present now, with Valentine's Day looming just days away. Even Madame Fontaine had decked out the French classroom in pink and white paper hearts.

As she took her seat in the very center of the room, Emily tore her gaze away from the Valentine's Day décor and glanced around at her classmates. Riley Wolfe tossed her hair and laughed as she placed her hand flirtatiously on James Freed's arm, a move that looked totally natural, but that Emily knew would seem awkward and probably kind of creepy if she tried it. In the back of the classroom, a group of girls was clustered together, staring at one of their cell phones. "This is the dress I'm wearing to the dance," the girl holding the phone announced. "He said he thought I'd look totally hot in it." Her friends all squealed in response.

Emily turned away, twisting her pencil between her hands, just as Alison DiLaurentis breezed through the door. All at once, it was as though a slight hush fell over the room. Emily felt her stomach turn over.

She'd spent the better part of the year staring at the back of Alison's head instead of conjugating French verbs. It was hard not to. Ali had that effect on people. She was beautiful, mysterious, and although she ruled Rosewood Middle School with an iron fist, for some reason that didn't deter every single member of the student body from desperately wanting to be her friend…Emily included.

She wasn't sure what Alison had that the rest of them just simply  _didn't,_ but she felt herself getting jittery every single time the blonde walked into the same room as her, or even so much as glanced in her direction. She was sure that everyone else had to feel the same way – Ali was like a constantly moving magnet, drawing everyone toward her but not quite letting them get close enough to touch.

But that was all Emily wanted. She watched as Spencer Hastings, Alison's new best friend, leaned over and showed Ali something on her phone. Ali cracked up, and Emily's stomach swirled enviously. What she wouldn't give to sit beside Ali in class, to slide onto the bench beside her at lunch, to braid her hair during sleepovers…

" _Bonjour, élèves,_ " Madame Fontaine greeted, breaking Emily out of her daydream. She sat up straight, glancing down at her notebook and realizing with a jolt that she'd been absentmindedly tracing Alison's name in swirly cursive, over and over on a blank page. She flipped the notebook shut quickly.

"Today you'll be beginning your projects on  _la Saint-Valentin –_ Valentine's Day," the teacher went on, writing the phrase on the white board. "You'll be assigned partners, with whom you will create a presentation on France's connection to the holiday. I want you to include history, key vocabulary, and Valentine's Day traditions. Next week you and your partner will present what you have found to the class. All  _en français,_ please." The class groaned. "Now, for your partners."

She picked up a sheet of paper and began reading off names. Emily zoned out until she heard the sound of the French name that she'd chosen at the beginning of the year. "Eloise, you will be partnered with…Adele."

Emily's head snapped up. Immediately, her heart began to pound in her ears. She admittedly wasn't very good at remembering all of her classmates' French names, but she could never forget this one – Adele was Alison.

"Who's Eloise?" Alison said from the front of the room, turning around in her seat and scrunching her nose.

James Freed's hand shot into the air. "I am."

Ali rolled her eyes. "You wish."

He gave her a cocky grin in return. "Yeah, I do."

Emily cleared her throat, which suddenly felt bone dry. She lifted her hand. "Um, it's me."

Alison surveyed her with slightly pursed lips as Madame Fontaine continued assigning partners. After what felt like a million years, she offered a half-smile and slowly turned back around.

Emily felt her cheeks burn. What had that look meant? Was Alison mad? Did she wish she'd been given another partner? Like Spencer, her best friend and she smartest one in the class. Or one of the cute boys.

But when Madame Fontaine instructed them to spend the rest of class working, Ali slid into the vacated seat beside Emily with no hesitation. "Hey," she said with a smile. Her eyes flitted down to the string bracelet on Emily's wrist. "Cute bracelet."

Emily instinctively wrapped her hand around it. It was blue and white, the school's colors, and had been given to her by one of the members of the swim team. She felt herself blush. She was used to receiving compliments from people like her parents and her teammates, but never anyone like Alison. "Um,  _merci._ "

Ali flashed her another bright smile. "That reminds me, your French accent has to be, like, the best in the class. I bet Madame Fontaine loves you."

Emily could have sunk right through the floor. "Yours is really good, too," she replied shyly. It was true – with her perfect, lilting accent, she actually made putting effort into French class look  _cool._

Alison flipped her hair over her shoulder and lazily opened her French textbook to the section on holidays. "I'd love to spend a year in Paris. Trade in eating mystery meat in the cafeteria for croissants on the Eiffel Tower."

Emily smiled. She wanted to tell Ali that she was pretty sure schools in France had cafeteria food, too, but instead she just ducked her head and murmured, "That would be amazing." She glanced up. Madame Fontaine was staring at them, and nodded in the direction of the textbooks on their desks, a clear indication that they needed to get to work. Emily reddened. There was nothing she hated more than anyone feeling disappointed in her. She turned abruptly to the book. "We should start looking up some Valentine's Day vocab."

Alison shot a look over at the teacher, too, then flipped lazily through a few pages of the text, looking bored and unconcerned. "So," she said after a moment, "are you going to the dance on Saturday?"

Emily was so surprised by the question that she turned the page too roughly and nearly ripped it right out of the spine. The last time she'd spoken to Ali had been weeks ago, when she'd accidentally bumped into her in the hallway. She'd sputtered out an apology, and Ali had snickered with her friends and made a snarky comment about Emily having two left  _gills._

Emily hadn't been too bothered by the comment – she was just thrilled that Alison DiLaurentis had spoken to her at all, much less known that she was a swimmer. But beyond that, she clearly hadn't been on Alison's radar at all back then. Why was Ali suddenly so chatty and…actually nice? Was she just making any excuse to get out of doing work? Or did she suddenly see Emily as someone worthwhile?

Feeling a pang of excitement at the possibility, Emily attempted to answer evenly. "I'm not sure. I've never really been to a dance before."

Alison widened her eyes slightly. Emily tried not to stare. They were even bluer up close than she'd realized. "You can't be serious."

Emily gave a little shrug, suddenly embarrassed. She'd never been into dancing or dressing up, and it had never bothered her before. Some of her teammates didn't go to the junior high dances, either. But now she felt self-conscious. Was it  _weird?_

She attempted to laugh it off, play it cool. "I guess I'm just not super into dances," she admitted.

"Well, how do you know that if you've never been to one?" Alison asked, tilting her head and pouting a bit.

Suddenly, Emily could barely look at her. She averted her eyes, staring straight down at the unfamiliar French words on the page in front of her. Her stomach lurched, and for the first time, the thought flashed through her mind that maybe everyone else  _didn't_ feel quite like this in Ali's presence.

"I-I don't," she said in a hoarse whisper, her throat dry. "But – "

"You should think about going," Ali interrupted, smiling. She shifted, so close now that Emily could feel her breath. "I'll be there."

Emily felt frozen to her seat. Her chest was tight, like she was a wind-up toy wound too far. She could barely breathe, and the rush of emotion running through her was unfamiliar, kind of thrilling…and also terrifying.

_She's just being friendly,_ she told herself sternly, trying to hammer the words into her brain as she stared back at Alison.  _And you're excited that someone in the popular group is being nice to you. That's all._

_Is it?_ a much smaller, taunting voice in the back of her head responded. If Emily really thought about it, she realized that this wasn't the first time that voice had spoken up. She'd just always pushed it away.

And she was just about to do the same now when Alison suddenly raised her eyes to something just behind Emily. Then Madame Fontaine spoke, and the unexpected sound of her voice nearly scared Emily right out of her seat. " _Filles._ "

Emily whirled around to see their teacher standing beside their desks. Her arms were crossed and her mouth was turned down in displeasure. "This is French class, not social hour. And since you haven't seemed to get much work done on your presentation this period, I suppose you'll have to come in at the end of the day to get it done."

Emily's heart dropped like a stone into her stomach. Was Madame Fontaine implying that she was going to give them  _detention?_ She had never so much as been given a warning look by a teacher before.

She glanced at Alison out of the corner of her eye. The blonde was gazing up at Madame Fontaine with clear disinterest, looking completely unfazed. That should have stopped Emily from what she was about to do next, but the words came spilling out of her mouth before she'd even processed them. "It's not her fault, Madame. Ali – um, Adele – was trying to work. I kept distracting her."

The French teacher raised an eyebrow in obvious disbelief. Alison stared at Emily, her mouth open slightly. Across the room, Spencer was watching, her eyes wide. Emily plowed ahead. "It was only me. I swear."

"Eloise." Madame Fontaine dragged her name out slowly, frowning. "That's disappointing to hear. You know that I expect more from you."

Emily bowed her head, her cheeks flaming. She could feel everyone's eyes on her. "I know."

"Since you haven't given me trouble all year, I'll leave you with a warning," Madame Fontaine said, her voice taking on a gentler tone. "There are still fifteen minutes left before the bell. If I hear one more off-topic remark from either of you, I'll be changing my mind."

" _Merci,_ " Emily breathed. She watched, her heart beating frantically in her chest, as the teacher crossed the room to answer a question from another student. She couldn't believe she'd just done that.

She turned slowly back to Ali, who looked like she felt the same way. Ali narrowed her eyes slightly, as if she was really seeing Emily for the first time. "Wow. What made you do that?"

The words felt frozen in Emily's throat. It wasn't like this was the first time someone had sacrificed something for Ali, for no good reason. Emily had seen kids happily doing her homework for her, or letting her cut in the lunch line so she could get the last slice of pizza. But this felt different, somehow. More personal, maybe.

She had no idea what to say, so she just shrugged and went back to the textbook without a word, aware of Madame Fontaine's eyes on her.

Alison cleared her throat, and Emily couldn't help but glance back over at her. "That was really cool of you," Ali whispered, giving Emily a dazzling smile. "You should join Spencer and me for lunch today."

Tingles shot through Emily's entire body at her words. She forced a nod and a smile in return. Then she turned away, but as she relished in the sudden warmth that was spreading through her, it occurred to her that maybe she was starting to understand what it felt like to be in love, after all.


	3. Hanna

Hanna

"Let's get physical, get down, get hard, get mean! Let's get physical, and beat the other team!"

Hanna clutched a blue pompom in one hand and a white one in the other. She waved them as she stepped back and forth to the beat of the cheer, trying hard to keep time with the girls around her. As she shouted the words, which sounded way too falsely cheerful coming out of her mouth, she tried to force herself to focus on maintaining a big smile, on hitting each move sharply.

But the doubts began to creep into her mind anyway. She could feel sweat dripping down her forehead, and was pretty sure that the high school's head cheerleader noticed. One of the assistant coaches leaned over and whispered something to the head coach, and Hanna imagined that it was something about how chubby her legs looked in the blue cotton shorts she'd picked out, or how the extra flab on her arms jiggled every time she raised the pompoms above her head.

As her tryout group moved into the final cheer that they'd learned, Hanna glanced around, wiping her brow. She'd wanted to run out the gym doors as soon as she'd arrived. Almost every other eighth grader in here was skinny and lithe, with glowing skin and perfect, silky hair tied back into a neat ponytail. Meanwhile, pieces of Hanna's hair had already started to fall around her face. She couldn't believe that after the fifteen minute tryout, no one else looked sweaty or out of breath.

With her pudgy stomach and short stature, Hanna knew she wasn't exactly what most people imagined a cheerleader would look like. But as soon as she'd seen the sign-up sheet for high school cheerleading tryouts, she'd eagerly written her name down. She'd spent the last three years of middle school tugging her shirt down over her stomach, trying to make sure she had an appropriate amount of food on her tray at lunch, and feeling…well, like a huge loser.

She'd always assumed high school would be the same way. But starting school as a cheerleader? That could change her whole life. She'd practiced every cheer she could think of in front of her mirror for weeks, determined to make the squad.

But now, standing in line with all of these tall, lean girls, she felt more inadequate than ever. "Nice work, girls," the cheerleading coach called when they were finished. "I wish we could accept all of you onto the squad next year, but we just don't have enough uniforms to go around. If I call your last name, congratulations. I want you to hang around for a while so we can go over summer training camp dates. The rest of you, don't feel bad, and consider trying out again next year."

Hanna crossed her fingers behind her back as the coach took the clipboard from the cheer captain and started reading off names. She had to make it. This was her only chance to make something of herself before she started high school and was officially branded a loser – again.

"Anderson. Wilcox. Browling." Girls around her squealed and hugged their friends as the coach continued down the list. Hanna nibbled anxiously on her thumbnail, trying not to breathe too loudly. Her heart still pounded from all of the cheering.

After a few more names, the coach lifted her head, and Hanna's heart sank. "That's it. Thanks to everyone who tried out, we had a lot of great talent this year. Girls who heard their names, over here, please."

Beaming girls rushed to the table of coaches and high school cheerleaders, their ponytails bouncing. Feeling like a total reject, Hanna slunk over to the bleachers, where she'd left her bag. She swung it over her shoulder, took a large gulp of water, and tried to push back tears.

She gazed around at the other dejected girls. There were only five of them. She was only one of six to not make the team, to not have the talent. Wincing, she glanced down. Even though she couldn't see it, she could practically feel her muffin top protruding over the waistband of her shorts. Maybe there was another reason why she didn't make the cut. The thought only made her feel worse.

"Hey," a voice spoke up shyly. Hanna turned, capping her water bottle. Mona Vanderwaal stood behind her, clutching a sparkly pink gym bag. Like Hanna, she looked exhausted and out of breath, and her glasses had started to slip down her nose. Hanna had completely forgotten that she'd tried out – she'd been in the first group.

"Sorry you didn't make it, either," Mona said, plopping down on the bleachers and retying the laces on one of her bright pink and purple sneakers.

"Whatever," Hanna mumbled, ducking her head. Mona was one of the biggest geeks in their school – something the popular clique reminded her of every day. She wasn't exactly the sort of person Hanna wanted to be seen talking to, not if she wanted to do her own popularity any favors.

But maybe it was too late for that, anyway.

"I thought you were really good out there," Mona offered, giving Hanna a smile full of braces. "It's totally unfair."

Hanna felt her face redden. "Uh, thanks," she said, stepping back. Suddenly, though, she felt kind of bad for not being nicer. "You were good, too." It wasn't a lie – Mona was totally skinny and tiny enough to be one of the girls that got thrown around in the air. If she lost the glasses and the dorky pigtails, she would fit right in.

"Really?" Mona beamed as though Hanna had just given her the greatest compliment of her life. "Thanks!"

"Sure," Hanna muttered, a wave of self-consciousness washing over her again. "Um, I gotta go." She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and pivoted, hurrying out the gym doors, trying to ignore the squeals and laughter from the lucky girls who were about to become high school cheerleaders.

The hallway was blissfully deserted. Hanna leaned against the wall and texted her mom to come and pick her up. Then, without warning, tears began to well in her eyes. She wasn't good enough for cheerleading, she wasn't good enough to get invited to parties, she wasn't good enough to be picked first for games in gym or class projects or anything. The popular kids scrunched up their noses when she walked past them, obviously put off by her excess weight and baggy clothes.

She wiped furiously at her eyes and glanced back in the direction of the gym. Maybe it had been wrong of her not to give Mona more of a chance. She may have been considered even more of a loser than Hanna, but she was also the first person to treat Hanna with kindness in a long time.

And it wasn't like she had any other options. She threw her water bottle into her bag, her hands shaking. Give up on being popular, she told herself firmly. You're never going to be anything more than a fat, ugly failure. Before she could clap a hand over her mouth, she let out a devastated wail, leaning heavily against the wall.

She was so consumed by her own disappointment and self-loathing that she didn't hear the click-clack of high heels on the linoleum floor. And she didn't see the person rounding the corner until they were only a few feet away.

She turned her head and let out a yelp. Alison DiLaurentis tilted her head, watching her curiously. Another wave of shame spread through Hanna. Of course. Of course Alison, of all people, had to see her like this, all splotchy-faced and sweaty and crying.

Alison's hair fell in sleek curls over her shoulders. Her face was glowing with a perfectly blended mixture of bronzer and blush. She folded her arms over the front of her short red and white striped dress, which would have made Hanna look like a whale.

"Oh my god," Hanna blurted in horror, immediately sniffing and attempting to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Alison asked, furrowing her brow. "Something's obviously wrong."

Hanna wondered for a moment if she was about to comfort her. But Ali just gave her one last look and began to walk away. Hanna felt panic rise in her chest. Alison probably thought she was crazy, some big pathetic mess. Desperate to redeem herself, she called after her, "You look amazing, Ali! That dress is so cute."

Alison froze, then slowly glanced back. Her mouth twitched into something at least resembling a smile. "Seriously," Hanna insisted. "You always look great."

"You're sweet," Ali replied slowly, gazing at Hanna like she wasn't quite sure what to make of her. Something in her expression shifted slightly. There was definitely a smile on her face now. She nodded toward the gym. "I'm guessing cheerleading tryouts didn't go so well?"

For a moment, Hanna couldn't even respond. Was this really happening? Alison had never been flat-out mean to her the way that other kids had, but she'd never exactly given Hanna the time of day before, either. She'd always figured that she was basically invisible to Ali, not even worth the energy it would take to poke fun at her.

But now here she was, right in front of Alison's face, probably the easiest target in history. And Ali was actually being…nice?

"Not really," she admitted sheepishly, averting her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself self-consciously. "I didn't make it." She tried to make her voice light and carefree, as if she wasn't bothered one bit, but her voice cracked.

Alison sniffed. Hanna figured she was just annoyed, but she looked up just in time to see her roll her eyes in the direction of two grinning girls exiting the gym. "You're better off. Trust me."

Suddenly, something occurred to Hanna. "You didn't try out," she blurted, wondering why she hadn't noticed before. Alison was the epitome of a cheerleader. She probably would have been made team captain right then and there.

Alison made a face. "God, are you kidding? Cheerleading is so lame."

Despite the disgust on her face, Hanna's heart started to lift. "Really?"

"Um, yeah." Ali took a step forward and raised her eyebrows at Hanna. "Who wants to stand on the sidelines and wave pompoms for a bunch of boys? They should be the ones bowing down to you."

Hanna had never thought of it that way. She'd always thought the cheerleaders were so incredible, with their tiny skirts and perfect makeup and amazing, coordinated routines. But maybe Alison was right. Maybe it was kind of lame to play a sport that was completely centered on cheering for someone else.

If anyone else had said that, Hanna probably would have rolled her eyes and gone back to moping. But this was Alison, the most confident, beloved girl in school. If something was secretly lame, she would know.

"Maybe you're right," she murmured, rubbing at her arms.

Alison smiled. "Of course I'm right."

Hanna met her eyes, and for a moment, the floodgates almost opened. She had the sudden desire to tell Ali everything, about how she'd always felt like a gross outcast, how she thought becoming a cheerleader would give her the confidence she so desperately needed. Maybe Ali could even give her some advice on how to become as cool and self-assured as she was.

But Hanna pushed those thoughts away as quickly as they'd popped into her head. Alison may have been being nice to her now, but some big heartfelt confession would be going way too far. She would probably turn and run…or, even worse, laugh in Hanna's face. So she just gave a wobbly smile in return. "Thanks. That helps."

"Don't mention it," Alison purred, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She took a few steps down the hallway. Hanna sighed and smoothed back her hair, feeling a sense of renewal. Maybe not making the cheerleading team wasn't the end of the world, after all.

Hanna was just about to head in the opposite direction when something magical happened. She heard Ali's voice, once again, from behind her. "Hey."

Startled, Hanna turned. Alison was watching her with folded arms and a slight smile. "I'm about to go get ice cream with a few of my friends. Want to come?"

Hanna wouldn't have been more shocked if Alison had just sprouted wings and took flight. She took in Ali's expression, the words taking a moment to sink in. Was she joking? If Hanna said yes, would she laugh and make sure Hanna knew that she would never really be invited to hang out with her? She stumbled over her words. "Um…I…"

"Oh, come on," Alison urged, as if she was reading Hanna's mind. "I'm serious."

Hanna fiddled with the extra hair tie on her wrist. Alison could be lying, or trying to trick Hanna into humiliating herself. That seemed like the kind of thing she would do.

She glanced back toward the gym. Then again, she'd already made a huge fool out of herself at the cheerleading tryouts. What did she have to lose?

"Okay," she said, trying not to let her growing excitement show.

"Awesome." Alison whipped around and started for the doors, gesturing for Hanna to follow. "Stick with me, and you'll forget all about those silly pompoms."


	4. Aria

Aria

Aria didn't really wonder what it would feel like to have friends. But sometimes she wondered if she should wonder what it would feel like.

She set her sketchbook down on a small table in the very back of Scoops, Rosewood's only ice cream shop, careful to avoid a sticky stain on the metal surface. Absently, her hand began flying across the page, sketching in the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. Aria had always considered herself more of a writer, but she'd decided that her summer goal would be to become as well rounded of an artist as possible, and she was trying to get an early start.

Art was something that she could do without friends. It was better if she was alone, in fact. Maybe that was why being so remote from others had never really bothered her. She glanced up toward the jukebox again, just as a group of kids she recognized from her class sat down at the table beside it, blocking her view.

She opened her mouth, ready to ask them to please move to a different table. There was plenty of space in the shop, which was empty aside from Spencer Hastings, Emily Fields, and Hanna Marin huddled together at a table near the counter. And it wasn't as if she cared what James Freed, Kristen Cullen, and a bunch of other athletes thought about her.

But then another boy strode over to the table and pulled out a chair, and Aria's tongue turned to lead. She stared openly as Noel Kahn slapped James on the back and laughed raucously at some dirty joke. With his blindingly white sneakers, tousled dark hair, and athletic build, Noel was exactly the kind of guy Aria usually wrote off as not worth her time – not that any of them were clamoring for it.

Noel, though…Aria hadn't been able to stop daydreaming about him since he'd let her cut in front of him in the pizza line, way back in fifth grade. Subsequently, he'd proven himself time and time again to be a typical middle school jock. The logical part of Aria's brain knew that. But her heart still jumped into her throat every time his blue eyes passed over her face.

Aria ran her fingers self-consciously through her hair, wondering if the neon green streak she'd recently put in made her look sickly. But Noel didn't even glance in her direction. "You know, I'm kind of craving burgers now," he announced to the table.

James nodded seriously. Aria looked away, nearly laughing at the amount of thought he seemed to be putting into his food choices. "Me too, man. Let's go."

"I want ice cream," Kristen whined, but reluctantly got to her feet. "Let's stop here on the way back."

The kids shoved their chairs back and made their way toward the front of the shop. Aria ducked her head as they passed her, but she startled when James' arm accidentally knocked against her sketchbook, sending it flying to the floor.

James barely glanced back. Aria sighed and rolled her eyes. Typical, self-absorbed Rosewood assholes. She was just reaching for her book when a hand shot out of nowhere and beat her to it. "I got it."

Aria raised her head, her eyes widening as she came face to face with Noel. He shot her a lopsided grin as he straightened up, the sketchbook in his hand. "Here," he said, holding it out to her. "James can be kind of a douche."

Aria's hand shook as she took the book from him. Her brain was whirring. It was like she'd forgotten how to string words together properly. All she could do was stare into his way too blue eyes and concentrate on not toppling out of her chair altogether. God, how did some girls do this?

Noel's smile faltered after an awkwardly long moment of silence passed. His eyes crinkled in obvious confusion. "Uh, thanks," Aria finally squeaked. The words tumbled out heavily.

"No problem," he replied, then turned and raced after his friends like he couldn't get away from Aria fast enough.

Aria groaned and fell back in her chair. She could feel her cheeks flaming. She didn't care what just about anyone in Rosewood – especially from school – thought of her. So what was it about Noel that turned her into such a blubbering, pathetic mess?

"Well," a voice spoke up suddenly from behind Aria, "the cat certainly got your tongue, didn't it?"

Aria whipped around. Alison DiLaurentis stood in the doorway leading to the little hallway where the restrooms were located. Her lips were quirked up in a smile, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. Aria slowly glanced around, but aside from Alison's friends, seated near the front of the shop, no one else was nearby.

"Ali!" Hanna rose halfway out of her seat, waving an arm over her head. She pointed to a cup of ice cream on the table. "We got your favorite!"

"Be there in a sec," Alison called, her eyes still on Aria.

Aria looked away, feeling uncomfortably like one of the microbes they'd analyzed under the microscopes in science the other day. Once, in sixth grade, she and Alison had been paired together for a class project. Alison had rolled her eyes at Aria's stick-on earrings, then flirted with the boys behind them while Aria did all of the work.

Needless to say, Aria never really understood what all the fuss was about, why it seemed like every single person in school worshipped at the chapel of Alison DiLaurentis. To Aria, she just seemed like a cliché – the pretty, popular stereotype who everybody loved even though she treated them all like crap, who thought she was better than the rest, who was desperately in need of getting knocked down a few pegs, but nobody had the guts to do it. The only thing missing was that Aria was pretty sure Alison had never been hit by a bus, or anything like that.

"Looks like someone has a crush," Alison trilled, stepping closer. She tilted her head at Aria, sticking out her lower lip pityingly. "Isn't he a little out of your league, sweetie?"

Aria knew what she was supposed to do. She was supposed to turn bright red and run out of there with her head bowed. She was supposed to throw herself at Alison's feet and beg her not to spread some awful rumor about her building a shrine to Noel in her bedroom.

She was supposed to bow down to Alison, just like everyone else did.

But she focused her eyes on her sketchbook and forced herself not to react. Maybe if people stopped responding to Alison's little jeers the way she wanted them to, she would stop.

"Oh, come on," Alison went on when Aria stayed silent. "I saw the way you looked at him. You've got it bad." She laughed. There was a slight tinge of nastiness to the sound.

At last, Aria lifted her gaze. She could feel the eyes of Alison's friends boring into her back. "Yeah," she said slowly, keeping her voice level and measured. "I like Noel."

Alison opened her mouth, but no words came out. She looked like she was trying to control obvious surprise. Aria felt a swell of satisfaction. There. Alison couldn't taunt her about something she readily admitted herself, could she?

But then her eyes flitted away. She always saw Alison and Noel flirting playfully at school. What if Alison told Noel about Aria's crush? She was pretty sure her behavior just moments ago had made it obvious that she liked him, but having it confirmed would be mortifying.

She glanced back up. Alison was watching her with a raised eyebrow, but she no longer seemed surprised. The taunting glint in her eye had even disappeared. She looked kind of…intrigued. Like Aria was some kind of undiscovered species.

"You know," the blonde said slowly, resting her manicured hand on the table, "Noel and I are pretty good friends. I could talk to him for you."

Aria heard the words, but they didn't make any sense. "Talk to him…about what?"

"About you," Alison answered, the "duh" an implied ending. "Put in a good word." She gave Aria a sly wink.

Aria felt like she had entered an alternate reality. She stared down at the chipped bright yellow nail polish on her fingers, unsure how to respond. Alison seemed sincere enough, but Aria had seen her use this same tactic to cut down practically every girl in their class. Alison played nice the way animals in nature documentaries played dead. And then, when you let your guard down, she struck.

But Aria wasn't going to let herself fall victim. She straightened her sketchbook, setting her pencil carefully on the page. "That's okay," she heard herself say, the words surprisingly firm.

She expected Alison to flip her hair over her shoulder, make a snide comment about Aria growing up to be an old, freaky maid, and storm away, but when she dared to steal a glance, the most popular girl in school was staring at her with slightly narrowed eyes.

"You're seriously saying no?" Alison asked, looking even more intrigued than before. "I could make this happen for you."

"Thanks," Aria said, picking up her pencil and beginning to sketch in the arching top of the jukebox. "But I'd rather Noel like me because he wants to, not because you tell him to." She was taken aback by the calmness of her own voice. She was pretty sure she'd never been so brave before in her life.

"Hmm." Alison folded her arms, frowning thoughtfully. "Suit yourself." She took a few steps in the direction of her friends, but before Aria could exhale, she turned back. "Why don't you join us instead of sitting here by yourself?"

There was something in her tone that sounded a bit…strange. Not phony, exactly, but almost like she was testing something. Aria shook her head, attempting a smile. "I'm okay here." Her hands were itching to keep drawing. And besides, Alison might not have been actively making fun of her anymore, but that didn't mean Aria's suspicions were gone.

Instead of responding – or walking away – Alison leaned over, taking a scrutinizing look at the half-finished sketch on Aria's pad. "Not bad. Aria…" She turned Aria's name over in her mouth carefully, like she was pondering the word. Then she smiled. "You're the one who Mr. Grizelli's always talking about. He loves using your projects as models."

"Yeah," Aria admitted, brushing her hair out of her face and trying not to look too proud. Mr. Grizelli was their art teacher, and it was true that he basically saw Aria as his protégé. He even let her come in during study hall to work on her own, independent paintings. "I'm pretty into art."

Suddenly, Alison grabbed the back of the chair across the table from Aria and sat down. Out of the corner of her eye, Aria saw Spencer, Emily, and Hanna whip around to exchange glances of obvious confusion. "Nice," Alison murmured, sliding the sketchbook toward her before Aria even knew what was happening.

"Um," Aria blurted, fidgeting as Alison began casually flipping through the pages, which were filled with sketches and watercolors of nature and random objects that Aria found interesting. She didn't even let her family look through her drawings, let alone someone like Alison DiLaurentis.

She braced herself for the nasty comments that she was sure would follow, but Alison just lifted one side of her mouth, nodding. "God, I wish I could draw like this. Do you ever do portraits?" she asked, tilting her head and folding her hands under her chin.

Aria couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, sometimes. I don't have as much practice with drawing people, though."

"You should totally do a portrait of me," Alison said, handing the sketchbook back over. "That would be awesome."

Was Alison actually…complimenting her? Aria ran her tongue over her teeth, once again feeling like she was at a loss. She'd tried to be as blasé as possible to get Alison off her back, but it actually seemed like her nonchalance had had the opposite effect. And the weirdest part was that talking to Alison wasn't as horrible as Aria had originally expected.

"Ali," a voice called from across the room, and Aria twisted around to see Emily frowning at them. "Your ice cream's melting."

Alison rolled her eyes at Aria, as if they were sharing an inside joke. Aria smiled tentatively back. She'd always considered Alison to be the epitome of the basic Rosewood stereotype she hated, but now she was wondering if Alison sometimes felt the same way that she did. "Just come over here," Alison snapped, and the three girls immediately scrambled to join them.

"You guys know Aria," Alison said with a bright smile as Spencer pulled an extra chair over from the empty table beside them.

"Hey," Hanna and Emily said with small smiles, while Spencer just nodded, her brow slightly furrowed. Aria raised her hand in a confused wave. She knew all three of them, of course – they'd all been in the same class since kindergarten, after all – but not very well.

"Ladies," Alison declared, sliding her uneaten, half-melted cup of ice cream over to Aria, "I think we just found the newest member of our group."

As the other girls offered her cautious smiles, Aria stared in wonderment at Alison. She may not have ever wondered what having friends felt like, but she had a feeling that she was about to find out anyway, whether she wanted to or not.


End file.
